


we will make the garden grow

by ballerinaroy



Series: together or not at all [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Growing Up, Multi, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23667379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: Their annual Christmas Eve trip to Godric's Hollow inspires Harry.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Series: together or not at all [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632493
Comments: 15
Kudos: 148





	we will make the garden grow

It was hard to call it a tradition seeing as it was only their third year doing it, but whenever they discussed their plans for the holiday, it was a given they would spend midday of Christmas Eve visiting Godric’s Hallow.

“I told mum we’d come by after,” Ron said conversationally as they relaxed by the fire the evening before. Drinking wine and wrapping all the presents they’d put off until the last minute. “Wanted to know if we’d be staying the night. I told her only so long as we were all allowed to stay in my room.”

“What’d she say?” Hermione asked.

“She didn’t like it very much, said it wouldn’t be Christmas if we didn’t stay,” Ron answered. “And then I pointed out that Harry and I would be together either way and she got all red in the face and I didn’t think I should push her anymore.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Hermione said, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “I’m just glad they’re including us.”

Her voice trailed off, and Harry shared a look with Ron. Hermione hadn’t taken the announcement her parents would be spending their holiday in France well. Particularly when it had come in a note explaining that her mother thought it’d be easier for her to stay behind so she wouldn’t have to explain that Hermione was still living with a man she was no longer engaged to.

“It bothers me,” Ron went on after a moment. “She can’t just go on acknowledging one of you and not the other.”

Harry smiled down at his present, touched.

“How’d you get so good at that anyway?” Ron asked, giving up on the mangled ribbon he’d been fussing with and nodding over at Harry’s neatly wrapped one. “My ends never line up.”

“That’s because you never take the time to measure,” Harry told him, pulling Ron’s present towards him and fixing it. “It takes patience.”

“Because you’re the king of that,” Ron teased, “Not the single most reckless person that I’ve ever met.”

Harry rolled his eyes as Ron leaned over, kissing his cheek. Hermione merely shook her head at them, a fond smile on her face, the flickering light of the fire highlighting the glow on her cheeks and the sparkling in her eyes.

Their evening had been quite enjoyable with the promise of several days free from work and only the commitments of their family to distract them from one another. A lie in the next morning, time spent buttoning up one another’s cloaks and helping wrap scarves around one another’s necks. The kind of domesticity they’d fallen into years prior but now had a new meaning.

The village, blanketed in fresh snow, was picturesque when they arrived just after lunch. It was nice to be out of the city and in the fresh air of the village. And although it was a seldom occasion, visiting his parents grave there was a certain sereneness to being in the place his parents had once lived.

They walked around the square, admiring the Christmas decorations and decided to warm up in the local pub before seeing the ruins of his parents' home and going about their day.

Harry was hardly upset, but he didn’t mind Ron and Hermione’s careful consideration of him, Hermione tangling her hand with his while Ron went off to order them drinks.

“You look familiar,” said a voice and Harry looked up at the bartender to find an older gentleman, looking hard at Harry. He’d gotten used to being recognized, even with a hat pulled low over his scar as a feeble disguise.

He considered being clever with the man but decided against it.

“Harry Potter,” he said, offering his hand to the gentleman.

Realization dawned on his face and he reached out to shake his hand. “Paul Porter.” He hesitated and Harry braced himself for being thanked but it didn’t come. “I knew your parents when they lived here. Used to help them get supplies. Nice couple.”

It had never quite occurred to Harry that there might still be people living here who knew his parents while they were still breathing. Lost for words he barely heard Paul asking to join them but nodded numbly as he slid in beside Ron in the booth.

“Did you work with Dumbledore?” Ron asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Our paths cross from time to time, but when I was old enough to wander the town on my own he was off at school. After I took over this place he’d come in for a drink, but my mother had quite the vendetta against his and I think he never quite forgive that.”

Even as he answered Ron, his eyes were glued to Harry. Flicking up to where his scar was hidden beneath the cap.

“It’s not much now, the cottage, but it was quite a charming place back in the day. We’ve talked about tearing it down, what’s left of it anyway, but we couldn’t think of a better memorial.”

Harry nodded, something tight in his throat.

“I have some old pictures, of the house. Not of your parents, I’m afraid, but if you’ve ever wondered what it was like, we could at least give you that.”

“Thank you,” Harry managed.

“Any time,” he nodded. “Mr. Potter.”

Just as he’d come he left, leaving Harry with an aching feeling in his chest. The room suddenly felt very hot, Ron and Hermione’s worried expressions too intense.

“Let’s go,” Harry said suddenly, standing even though their drinks had barely cooled enough to sip and without waiting to see whether they were following, he stood and marched from the bar, for the first time in his life relying on his reputation to pay for him.

Without thinking he traced the path back to the place where his parents had last breathed. The place he was supposed to have grown, the home his parents had bought intending for him to live out a happy childhood in. Now all that stood were darkened beams in danger of collapsing, broken windows, nature slowly claiming back the place left standing out of respect.

His parents would have been his age, standing where he stood and planning a future together. Had they known of him already? Had he been the catalyst for their decision to buy a home in the sleepy village? Had he been in his mother’s stomach when they first walked the gardens, excitedly talking about what they might plant and grow. 

A life not lived.

At last Ron and Hermione caught up, standing beside him and he could feel their eyes on him, feel their worry. He hadn’t meant to alarm them, and yet the first question out of his mouth was bound to.

“Are we going to have kids?” Harry asked abruptly, not daring to look at them.

They were only half a year into this relationship, under normal circumstances Harry supposed that it would be too soon of a question. Normally _he_ would have thought the question too sudden but he had a deep desire to know. When they didn’t answer, Harry turned his head, meeting Ron’s eyes first.

He supposed there was something alarming in his expression for Ron was staring at him with concern.

“I hope so,” Ron replied carefully, clearly unsure of what Harry wanted.

Harry looked to Hermione, her expression equally worried. “One day,” she promised hastily and he nodded, turning back to the ivy-covered ruins.

“Good.”

Together their gazes shifted back to the half of a house left standing and huddled together against a sudden wind. It was here, more than their graves had done, that Harry felt overcome. They’d been so young. Young enough that there were still people here who remembered them fondly. Who Harry should have grown up knowing.

Whom he could still know.

The thought came from nowhere. A sudden desire to live out what his parents wanted for him. But when he turned to tell Ron and Hermione, worry still plagued their faces and he didn’t see them taking to the idea at once.

_Alright?_ Ron’s expression read and Harry nodded, hope blossoming in him.

“I’m fine,” he verbalized, meaning it even though neither Ron nor Hermione looked convinced. “Just a bit of a shock.”

Their expressions eased when Harry leaned closer, tilting his head towards Ron’s shoulder. His first twenty years might not have been what his parents wanted for him. But perhaps the next twenty could be.

He’d been unintentionally brooding ever since they’d arrived at the Burrow, consumed with the thought that should have been passing. Almost as soon as the opportunity had presented itself Harry and snuck off, retreating to Ron’s attic bedroom and sat there in the darkened room, his mind full of thoughts that he’d never before had. It wasn’t long until they found him.

Ron peeked into the darkened room and his face flooded with relief. Momentarily Harry felt terrible for having worried him, but Ron didn’t hold it against him, coming and sitting beside him, their thighs flush and backs against the wall. Hermione shut the door behind them, producing those little balls of light Harry had always been impressed by and sitting down on the opposite bed.

“I’ve been thinking about what Paul said,” Harry said without preamble. “Taking him up on the offer.”

“To tear down the house?” Ron asked.

“Not tear it down necessarily,” Harry frowned. “But I hate to see it just sitting there, reminding everyone of what happened.”

“It’s not a bad thing, to have a memorial,” Hermione said quietly. “Magic, it isn’t all good.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly, feeling up at the now dormant scar on his forehead.

“Would you keep the land?” Ron asked him. “Or give it back to the town?”

Harry paused, and what had been a passing thought had morphed into something that seemed good. “It’s a nice village, peaceful.”

He saw Ron and Hermione exchanged a look and knew he needed to be more direct.

“Would it be too morbid?” Harry asked, “To want to live there? Live the lives they wanted?”

There was a pause where he held his breath before Ron’s hand reached for his and squeezed it.

“No,” Ron assured him, sounding a bit chocked. “It’s not.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Hermione assured him, teary-eyed.

And very quietly he added. “But only if you’d want that too.”

“It’s a nice village,” Ron echoed and confirmed he understood what Harry had been trying to say. “It’ll be a good place to raise kids.”

“Kids,” Harry repeated and something in his belly stirred.

“Kids.” Hermione agreed, standing and coming to sit beside him.

“A home,” Ron went on in a low soothing voice. “A garden. A place that’s ours.”

Harry nuzzled his head into Ron’s shoulder, the lump in his throat back at the prospect. “And you’ll be happy there too?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his bicep and nodded. “We will.”


End file.
